


Trailer

by becausecockles



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becausecockles/pseuds/becausecockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of events that unfold in Jensen's trailer, which eventually lead to him having a more-than-friends type relationship with Misha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of fun, not to be taken seriously. At all. 
> 
> Honestly, I have more or less abandoned this fic for the time being, so read on with that knowledge in mind :)
> 
> Also, since this fic is pretty light on the plot/character exposition, I feel I should mention that in this universe, Jensen is single and Misha is in an open marriage with Vicki. So, no infidelity is occurring at any point here.

 

|| - - - - - + - - - - - ||

 

The first time it happens, Jensen laughs it off- or he tries to, anyway. Walking into his trailer, he finds that it doesn’t feel quite as… empty… as it usually does. A frown crinkles his forehead, and when he looks around to the other side of the three-hundred-gallon aquarium that’s sitting just inside the door, he’s met with what feels like a sucker punch to his exhausted brain.

Misha, sprawled out on his stomach- still wearing his shoes, by the way –hugging a pillow that’s also crushed under one of his cheeks.

With a sigh, Jensen tosses his keys to the table on his left with one hand, and starts shrugging out of his jacket with the other. “The hell are you doing here, Misha?”

No response from the man-shaped log on his bed.

Flopping down on the mattress beside him, Jensen shoves at his feet. “Misha!”

A cranky groan, and then one bright but glassy blue eye is glaring at him. “ _What_?”

Despite the fact that Misha is the one invading  _his_  space here, Jensen can at least understand his co-star’s grumpy attitude. It’s four thirty in the morning, and they just wrapped on a sixteen hour day. Nevertheless. “What are you doing in my trailer, man? In my  _bed_? And- how’d you even get  _in_  here?”

“Can’t sleep without Vicki,” he mutters, as though that’s the obvious answer to all three of Jensen’s questions. “Too far to go home.”

It sort of makes sense, though, once Jensen runs it through his mental translator. Misha was only needed for five days, six at the most for his guest spot work on this episode; not long enough to justify flying Vicki and West all the way up here. On top of that, the house he’s leasing is a good forty-five minute drive away, and when they both have to be up and in makeup by nine a.m. anyway, he no doubt loathed the idea of having to waste precious sleeping hours driving home and back again.

“Fine,” Jensen mutters, putting one hand on his co-star’s chest, the other on his hips, and rolling Misha sideways. “But you’re taking the couch. So, scram.”


	2. Chapter 2

The second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time it happens, it goes pretty much the same way it did on the first time.

The seventh time, though, things are a little different. Because this time, it’s Jensen who makes it to bed first. Two in the morning, he stumbles into his trailer and doesn’t even bother getting undressed before he’s sinking under the sheets into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Morning light is peeking through the windows though when he feels something solid land in the bed beside him. One eye cracks open to show him the dark, tousled hair of his co-star as it settles onto the spare pillow.

“Misha?” he mumbles, voice a little higher in pitch but rougher in texture.

“Just be quiet and go to sleep, Jensen. I’m not taking the couch tonight.”

Jensen thinks about it for a second, and the only decision his sleep-addled brain can come up with is that this is a perfectly valid argument. So, with a quiet grunt, he re-opens the door to his dream world, and slips back in.

Four hours later, he wakes up to find that the sky is staring back at him. Or, well. Misha. It’s Misha, and those damned  _eyes_  of his.

“Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Misha says, just as groggy.

They roll out of bed, and for some reason, Jensen feels like there should’ve been a little more to it than that. A pat on the shoulder, a bump of foreheads.  _Something._

Oh well.


	3. Chapter 3

By the eleventh time, Jensen decides that it’s just sort of become a routine. Once in a while Misha crashes at Jared’s trailer, because he apparently has a key to it, too, and it’s fifteen steps closer to the set than Jensen’s is. Sometimes he actually makes the drive home, because he’s got a Skype date with Vicki, or because he misses his actual  _mattress_.

But most of the time…

Most of the time they go to bed together, and wake up the same way.

On their eighteenth morning with each other though, Jensen stops his friend before he can jump out of the bed. “Hey,” he says, reaching out to lay his hand over Misha’s lower back. It stops the other man immediately. He goes still, like a deer who thinks it’s been spotted by a predator.

“You staying over tonight?” Jensen asks, and by now his palm is rubbing a slow, nonsensical pattern into Misha’s back. His shirt is riding up at the very bottom, and every now and then, his pinky or the edge of his hand skims across warm flesh. It starts a tingling sensation blooming in his stomach and chest.

This is the first time either of them have ever actually voiced their sleeping arrangements in a planning-ahead sort of way. Jensen isn’t sure what to make of the fact that Misha is still silent and motionless a full two minutes later.

Then, something seems to roll through him. He blinks slowly, takes a breath, and then he’s looking at Jensen and fuck his eyes are actually somehow  _smiling_.

Misha’s got one hand curled under his stubbled chin when he nods at him. “Yeah.”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth twitches. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Good.”


	4. Chapter 4

When it happens the first time, it’s surprisingly easy. Shockingly  _not_ -uncomfortable.

Their evenings have upgraded a little bit, from the simple sharing of Jensen’s bed to an hour or so of TV time before they turn in. Sometimes there’s even dinner. Jared joins them every now and then, too, if Gen’s out of town or out late for some reason.

Tonight it’s just Jensen and Misha, and they’re watching some old action movie with Steven Segal in it. Jensen doesn’t even like Steven Segal, but he knows that Misha  _hates_  him, and that’s as good a reason as any to insist that they watch it.

Apparently though, there’s some quirky indie film on channel 87 that Misha’s got his eyes on. Too bad for him that Jensen has his hands on the remote.

“I’m telling you,  _Bread Basket_  is the way to go tonight.”

“And I’m telling  _you_  there’s no way we’re watching a movie called  _Bread Basket_ …” Jensen curls his lip a little as he says the title. “When we can watch the master of action kicking ass.”

“You don’t like Steven Segal,” Misha says, completely matter-of fact.

“Maybe my tastes have matured.”

At that, Misha just snorts. He props one arm up on the couch to scratch the back of his head, and prods Jensen’s thigh with one foot. “Come on. I wouldn’t tell you to put it on if I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“ _Jensen_.”

“Hey.” He shrugs. “My trailer, my TV, my rules. You wanna entertain yourself, find some other way of doing it.”

A few quiet minutes pass by after that. They’re a little tense, and Jensen can feel Misha’s eyes sliding over him every so often.

Right up until the moment where he feels the couch cushions shift beside him, and there are two hands in his shirt, hauling him sideways and downwards. “Misha, what-?” he blurts when he finds himself half-laying, half sitting on Misha. Hips nestled between his thighs, one hand braced on the arm of the couch, the other a firm pillar entrenched in the cushion beside the other man’s head. “What are you doing?”

Misha answers with a one-shouldered shrug. Completely nonchalant, as if this sort of thing happens every day. “Entertaining myself.”

And then there’s a warm mouth and soft lips ghosting over his. Nimble but strong fingers sliding through his hair, and a palm tracing the expanse of his back. A quick intake of breath followed by a quiet little moan.

Jensen, meanwhile, just sort of  _sinks_  into it. Something between a growl and a moan rumbles in his own throat, and then he’s wrapping one arm around Misha’s neck to lock him in place. His hips slot against the other man’s. Not moving, not thrusting, just providing that firm security, that promise of  _I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you_.

A word whistles through his mind, that faint notion of  _finally_ , as he pulls back with Misha’s lower lip between his teeth and he slides his other palm up under his shirt to rub roughly at one of his pectoral muscles.

“Jensen,” Misha murmurs between heated kisses, his hands everywhere, mouth finding the bolt of Jensen’s jaw, the artery that leads up to his pulse point, and his earlobe.

“Yeah?” Jensen whispers against his collarbone.

“Bed.”

Jensen nods against him, their lips brushing with the motion. “Yeah.”

…They never make it there, though. Too caught up in each other, in the exploration of each other’s mouths and the planes of their bodies. They don’t end up going any further than that, either. Clothes stay on, libidos remain frustrated, but… it’s good.

It’s  _really_  good.


End file.
